Damn it, Sam!
by Obi the Kid
Summary: When Sam is mildly poisoned, Dean has to deal with the aftermath of a drunken-state brother who decided to take candy from a stranger. Takes place during the second half of Season 6.


**TITLE:** Damn it, Sam!

**AUTHOR:** Obi the Kid

**RATING: **PG

**SUMMARY:** When Sam is mildly poisoned, Dean has to deal with the aftermath of a drunken-state brother who decided to take candy from a stranger. Takes place during the second half of Season 6.

**DISCLAIMER:** The characters of Sam and Dean Winchester and the world of Supernatural do not belong to me, nor do I make any profit from this story. I'm just here to have fun.

* * *

"Damn it, Sam, keep your damn head over the damn toilet!"

"You always say that, Dean."

"Say what?"

"Damn it, Sam."

"Well, if you weren't such a pain in the ass little brother, I wouldn't have too. Now keep your head over the toilet. You chunk on me one more time and you're on your own, especially after doing something so boneheaded."

Sam's hands, which had been propping him upright in a dog-sit position, slid out from under him at just that moment, he fell away from Dean's grasp and his head went down - chin bashing into the toilet seat. Dean reached for him again, lifting his head.

"Damn it, Sam!"

"You said it again…uh oh!"

For the fourth time in twenty minutes, the insides of the younger Winchester came shooting out the wrong end. This time though, with Dean's determined assistance, the aim was true and all bodily fluids landed on the interior of the toilet bowl. Sam was upright again and Dean propped his hands against the porcelain while he flushed the remnants of the poisonous and intoxicating snack that Sam had so stupidly ingested.

Dean shook his head and pushed himself back against the wall, careful to keep a steadying hand on the arm of his brother. Part of him felt for the guy, the other part of him looked around at the mess that was the motel bathroom. The floor, the walls, the entire place was a foul smelling disaster. Cleaning it might not be an option. This other part of Dean wanted to pummel Sam into unconsciousness.

"I can't believe you took candy from a friggin' monster!"

Sam, leaning heavily to his right and struggling to keep his head from falling into the toilet, responded in a slur.

"Looked like Jess."

"Seven years later Sam? Come on!"

"The monster tricked me, Dean. Tricky monster that she was. She tricks people. I was tricked."

"And I know I taught you better than that. Number one rule of being a kid, never take candy from strangers or monsters – or for that matter, strange monsters! Remember that? That type of information really does transfer to your adult life, especially with the class of creatures we hang around with. What the hell was that stuff anyway?"

Pulling the toilet lid down, Sam crossed his arms and laid his head on top as he sat facing the bowl.

"Dunno. Sticky and sweet and crunchy. Maybe like a S'more. Hey, Dean, how come you never taught me how to make S'mores when we were kids?"

"We were never that type of kid. We didn't wander into the woods for campfires songs and ghost stories. We were trained to kill the ghosts inside of those ghost stories. That doesn't go over too well at kiddie campfires. Now, what did the thing taste like?"

"The monster? I didn't eat the monster, Dean."

"Sam."

"Oh, you mean the candy. Um…sticky and sweet and crunchy…"

"You said that. Anything else you can remember?"

"It sure was tasty…until…"

"Yeah, until. Until it put you ten sheets to the wind drunk and throwing up everything you've eaten in the last three days."

"Yeah."

"What else can you tell me about it, Sam? The monster. We really should know what we're dealing with here."

"Blond. Pretty. Soft voice. I loved her, Dean. I loved that monster."

"No, you loved what she – it - was pretending to be. Probably another damn demon messing with our minds again. Or a friggin' angel playing games. Or whatever the hell else is out there. Can you stand?"

"Nah. I miss her, Dean."

Dean stopped his brusque interrogation for a minute to understand the drunken ramblings of his brother. What he missed - he wasn't talking about the candy-toting monster anymore.

"I know you do, Sammy."

Sam pressed his forehead into his crossed arms and swallowed down another feeling of nausea. He sniffed loudly a couple times, tucked away his still painful feelings for Jess, then tilted his head to the side to look at his brother, taking in the sight of the man's vomit stained shirt.

"Sorry."

"I'll live."

"Your shirt won't."

Dean looked down at himself. "Aww, hell."

An unexpected laugh came from Sam's mouth and then, "Hell? Hell is scary, Dean. It's fiery too. And hot. Really really hot."

"Sam."

"Dunno how I didn't burn up down there."

"Sam, stop it."

"But you always want me to talk about things, Dean. About when bad things happen to me. Hell was bad. I only remember a little bit though. I should try and remember so we can talk about it, so you won't be mad at me for not talking about it."

Dean sat forward, his face close to his brother's, his voice worried yet unbending. "Sam, leave it alone."

"But…you'll get mad."

"No, I won't. Enough. I mean it."

Head lifted from his arms, Sam's half-closed eyes fought to find Dean's.

"Hell's bad, huh?"

"Yeah, Sammy, real bad. Let's just deal with one thing at a time, okay? You and your stomach take priority over anything else and since I don't want you puking all over the interior of my car, we should stay put here another night. And staying put means two things."

"Oh, I know! The candy demon might come back."

"Okay, three things. The other two being that I need to clean this place up and I need to clean you up. It's a good thing we've got a tub, because you are going in it, clothes and all. The whole mess of you smells like crap."

Sam wobbled his head in the general direction of the tiny plastic oval thing that dare call itself a tub.

"Um, Dean, I can't fit in that. I'm really tall and my legs are long. My hair is too."

"I will make you fit."

And he did. Flipping off Sam's boots and jacket, he bullied his overgrown brother into the small tub, ran the water and pressed soap into the other's hand.

"Don't forget to wash your face and that mop on your head. And stay afloat. I'll get you some clean clothes."

When Dean returned a few minutes later, Sam was on the outside of the tub, leaning against it, water-logged in his clothes, shivering and looking like a drowned yeti.

"Damn it, Sam!"

"I finished washing."

"That sized body, fully clothed, in two minutes? I don't think so. Come on, stand up. How's your stomach?"

"Feels grumbly."

"You gonna puke again?"

"Dunno. You want me too?"

"If I say no, will you not do it?"

"Not do what, Dean?"

"Not throw up."

"I don't want to throw up."

"Then don't."

"Don't throw up or don't not throw up?"

"Don't throw up. Not again. Not tonight. Understand?"

"Gotcha." Sam stumbled out of the bathroom with Dean's help and into a kitchenette chair. "Dean?"

"What?"

"I think I gotta throw up."

"Damn it, Sam!"

Dean dragged his brother to the sink where the last little bit of everything came spurting out. Bile trailed at the end, so it appeared, hopefully, the worst was just about over.

"You're done now."

"I am?"

They moved back to the chair where Dean wiped a wet cloth across Sam's mouth and then retrieved his clean clothes again. "Here, these are dry."

"These are my clothes, Dean."

"Yes, Sherlock, they are. Change into them."

"Hmm…'kay."

It was perhaps the most painful thing Dean had ever watched. A poison candy-induced drunken bigfoot-sized little brother trying to force his discombobulated hands to work together to unfasten the top button on his filthy puke covered shirt. Minutes later, the ordeal moved to the second button. Eventually Dean had seen enough, took pity on his brother and helped the lumbering form out of the wet clothes and into the dry.

"Say goodbye to these clothes, Sam. I'm tossing them into the dumpster tomorrow morning. I may even set the dumpster on fire."

Sam moved slowly across the room to sit on the side of his bed and stare at the floor, as he said, "Hey, Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"I was stupid."

"Yeah, you were."

"What do you think the candy demon wanted?"

"Well," Dean started as he sat on his own bed across from his brother, "If it was a demon at this point in the game, more than likely they just wanted to amuse themselves with us. You know how some of them just enjoy a good prank to see if we'll fall for it."

"I fell for it."

"Big time. But they played dirty making you think it was Jess."

"But I should have known better. She's been gone for a long time." Sam's eyes met Dean's. They were remorseful and confused as he admitted, "I haven't been sleeping well lately."

"I know."

"The candy demon knew that and nailed me when I was down."

"Gotta be alert all the time."

"Sorry."

Reaching over, Dean patted Sam's knee, letting him know things were okay. He was well aware that Sam hadn't been sleeping sound since some of the memories of his days with Samuel had surfaced again. The pictures in his mind were clouded, but the general feeling was there; a feeling that he'd done bad things to good people. It was a weight that Sam didn't need on his shoulders.

"It's late, Sam. You need to sleep."

Sam immediately turned to his bed and flopped down onto his stomach, when Dean pulled at his arm. "Get on your side in case you start heavin' again."

Eventually he found a comfortable position and lay still, watching Dean watching him.

"I'll feel better in the morning, right Dean?"

"Yeah, you will."

"All of me?"

A loaded question. Dean went the honest route.

"Part of you will, Sam. The other part might still need some time."

Sam nodded into his pillow, trusting his brother, even in his hazed and intoxicated state.

"Hey, Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"You sure that wasn't Jess?"

"I'm sure."

"But it looked like her and sounded like her and smelled like her. Maybe she's in Hell too."

"Stop it, Sam."

"Maybe if I remember Hell, I might see her."

"Damn it, Sam, stop it. Right now."

Again, Dean came to his brother, kneeling at the side of the bed; his gruff exterior giving way when he saw a shimmer of wet in Sam's eyes. Inching back slightly, he softened his tone.

"She's not in Hell, Sam. And even if she was, remembering is a bad thing for you."

"Remembering Jess is never a bad thing, Dean."

"That's not what I mean. Remembering Hell is bad. You should remember the good things about Jess, okay? The fun you guys had at Stanford. Keep her separate from everything else."

Sam's face flattened as his eyes filled and several streaks ran sideways on his face into the pillow. "I don't wanna think about Hell, Dean," he finally said, as his foggy mind continued on its wayward path.

"And I don't want you to, Sam. Just close your eyes, okay?" He pulled the comforter over his brother then sat on the floor between the two beds.

"What are you doing?"

"Keeping you company until you fall asleep."

Sam smiled through his emotions. "Keeping me from thinking about Hell."

"It'll help if you stop talking about it."

"Sorry."

"Go to sleep, Sam. I'll be here."

"Hey, Dean?"

Dean sighed deeply as he replied, "What now?"

"I won't take candy from strange monsters anymore, okay?"

"Don't take _anything_ from _any_ monsters, Sam. Got it?"

"Anything from any. Okay. Hey, Dean?"

A frustrated Dean turned from his position on the floor and kneeled to face his younger brother again.

"Damn it, Sam, what?"

"Nothin'. Just wanted to hear you say it again."

"Say what?"

"Damn it, Sam. It's…calming."

"It's calming. Why?"

"Dunno. Just is."

"Whatever you say."

"My stomach is better. No more grumbly."

"I'm glad. Can you go to sleep now, please?"

Sam finally closed his eyes, and Dean settled back onto the floor, leaning against Sam's bed. A hand gently set on top of his head and stayed there.

"Sam, what's with the hand?"

"Just making sure you're not leavin'."

"Why would I…I'm not leavin', Sam."

The hand didn't move.

"We're all better now, me and you, aren't we, Dean?"

"We are, but I thought you were going to sleep."

"Sorry."

There was a tiniest trace of fear in Sam's drunken, bewildered voice and it didn't take but a moment for Dean to put it all together – why it was so difficult for Sam to settle and allow his mind and body to rest.

"You can sleep, Sam. I'm here."

Sleep brought nightmares of things Sam couldn't quite remember. Horrible things that were inching their way towards clarity each time he shut his eyes.

Simply put, sleeping was scary. And Dean knew that all too well. The nights that followed the aftermath of his tour of Hell and those in the months following the moment when his brother nosedived into the pit with Lucifer, were wrought with images and memories that Dean would never forget. They were the types of dreams he'd never wish on anyone, especially Sam.

But now Sam had to deal with his own images and memories which weren't quite ripened and ready for picking just yet. This was but a preview of what was to come and Sam needed to learn how to deal with these easier days while they lasted.

For now though, Dean would do what he could. And if that meant spending a night or two on the floor next to his brother's bed, while that same brother kept his hand secured on the top of his head all night…well, those were the responsibilities of being a big brother, right?

"Dean?"

"Here, Sammy."

"'kay."

"Go to sleep. Do you need me to say '_damn it, Sam'_ again?"

A soft chuckle emerged from the pillow. Sam smiled to himself and readjusted his hand on Dean's head.

"Nah."

"Good, close your eyes."

"S'okay to sleep now?"

"It's okay."

A soft snore quickly filled the room and when morning filtered through the small hotel window hours later, Dean woke to find a nightmare free little brother in an deep peaceful sleep…and a hand…still resting on his head.

* * *

The end

March 31, 2011


End file.
